Everything Is Different Now
by Eileen
Summary: A look at Pietro's life with the Acolytes. CURRENT STATUS: Working on Chapter 7.
1. Maybe Just One Friend

Everything Is Different Now

I.

The Boarding house was not the only property in the area that Magneto owned, under his various names. In an apartment building a few miles outside of Bayville proper, his new troops waited for instructions.

At least, most of them did. Sabretooth had gone out somewhere—hunting, probably. The French kid (Pietro thought he was French, anyway), Remy, was on the phone with some girl. The Australian, John, and the big Russian, whose name was Peter, were watching TV.

Pietro was in his bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. He'd been there since shortly after the group's arrival that afternoon. He hadn't even eaten dinner; his plate was still sitting on the tiny kitchen table. He just hadn't felt like eating. Or doing anything else, for that matter.

He'd told the others he was tired from all the running around he'd done during the battle, and he just wanted to take a nap. But he couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Wanda's face. How could he have betrayed her and the others?

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he said. His voice was raspy from lack of use. He needed a drink of water, but couldn't be bothered to get up and get it.

Peter came in, ducking his head under the low door frame. "Do you mind?"

Pietro shrugged. They did share the room, after all. The apartment was only a three-bedroom, so everyone had to double up.

Almost everyone—the largest bedroom belonged to Magneto alone, but he hadn't come home yet.

"So . . ." Peter said. He didn't talk much (unlike John, who never shut up); everyone had thought at first that he didn't speak English. But he seemed to be managing all right. "What is bothering you?"

"Huh?"

"Your eyes are red. Were you crying?"

"Well . . ." Pietro started to tell him, and then he remembered Rule Number One: **Never show weakness. "No. No, I've . . . got a cold."**

"Oh. Have you taken anything for it?"

Pietro shook his head. "That stuff knocks me right out. I'll be okay. I'm a fast healer."

"Do you want your dinner?"

"I'm not hungry." How could he eat after what he'd done? He closed his eyes again . . .

Wanda's face, frozen in shock.

Mystique's voice: "Are you loyal to him, or me?"

And his own, answering: "You!"

What was he thinking? How could he have done something like this? Lied to his teammates—**former teammates, he reminded himself. After this, there was no way they'd ever take him back, even if he begged on his hands and knees, which would not only violate Rule One but Rule Three (Never bargain) as well . . .**

He felt a hand on his forehead and opened his eyes. Peter was looking at him with an expression of concern. 

"Are you sure you feel all right? You are very warm."

He was warm because he'd been lying with his face pressed into the pillow for most of the day. "No, I'll be okay. I just need to be by myself for a while."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

He started to leave, but then Pietro stopped him. "Was there something else you wanted? You must have come in here for something."

"Oh, yes." Peter dragged a chair over and sat down. "You and I have similar names."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Do you have a nickname? So we don't get confused with each other? What do your friends call you?"

_What friends? "Uh . . .I don't know."_

"We'll work it out."

"Sure." They'd have lots of time, wouldn't they? People were so paranoid about mutants now that if Pietro and his present companions went out on the streets, they'd probably be shot. Until things changed, they were staying put.

Peter stood up. "I'll make you some tea. That should help you feel better."

"Do we have any?"

"We have everything."

"Okay."

With that, Peter left the room. Pietro closed his eyes again, but didn't get to sleep because he was thinking too hard. He had a lot to think about.

At one point, he had thought about suicide. For a short time—oh, about three minutes. Long enough to decide that even if he could find something to do it with, if it only screwed things up more, there was no way to take it back. His situation was bad, but not **that bad.**

Peter came back with a tray containing a mug of tea, and the reheated dinner plate. "I thought you might like to try and eat, at least."

"Fish sticks and Cheezy Mac?"

"John did the cooking."

Pietro actually smiled. "Well, it can't be too bad. You're still alive."

"True."

As he ate, Pietro reflected that maybe he'd been wrong before in thinking he had no friends. He had one after all.


	2. Bad Dreams

II.

Later that night, Pietro woke from a disturbing dream that he couldn't quite remember. 

He lay there for a moment, listening to the quiet sounds of breathing from the other bed.

He got up slowly, knowing he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep for a while, and decided to check the other rooms. Remy and John were in their beds. Sabretooth was sprawled across the sofa, snoring. Pietro tiptoed past him to the kitchen. The dirty dishes in the sink had all been cleaned and put away, but there was still some soda left in the fridge. He poured some into a paper cup and sipped it while sneaking into the third bedroom.

It was empty. No clothes thrown over the back of a chair, no shoes kicked off across the room, no personal items. Nothing. Magneto hadn't come home yet.

Pietro moved into his father's bathroom. No razors or shaving foam in the medicine cabinet. No robe hanging on the back of the door. It was as if he didn't even live there . . .

"What are you doing?"

Pietro jumped, but it was only John. "Nothing. What are you doing up?"

"I heard a noise. Why don't you use the other bathroom?"

"Uh . . ." His mind worked at lightning speed to come up with an explanation. "Cold medicine! There's none in the other bathroom, so I came in here to see if maybe there was some in here." He made a show of opening the medicine cabinet. "Nope, nothing in here. Guess I'll go back to bed."

"Yeah, me too." John looked like he was about to say something else, but he gave up and went back to his own room.

Pietro did likewise. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of anything. Especially not that his father might not be coming back.

He blinked . . .

And he was sitting in the car. It was a warm autumn night, and Daddy had agreed to take them out for ice cream. He and Wanda sat in the back, excitedly chatting about what flavor they would get. They were eight years old, nine in a few months. 

It wasn't until they passed the baseball field that Pietro realized this wasn't the way to the ice cream stand. Didn't Daddy know they were going the wrong way?

"Daddy?" he called out. "Where are we going?"

There was no answer, not right away. Daddy didn't like anyone to talk to him while he was driving. They stopped at a red light a little further on, and he looked back and said, "We're going for a ride first. There's something I have to do."

"I don't want to go for a ride!" Wanda said. Her toys began to rise off the back seat and float around on their own.

"Stop it!" Pietro whispered. "You'll get in trouble again!"

"I want to go **home**!"

They left the main road and started down a back street, one with very few lights. Wanda's toys were now flying around the inside of the car in a hundred different directions. One of them hit Daddy in the back of the head. Pietro held his breath, expecting Daddy to stop the car and yell at them, but he just kept driving, like what he had to do was too important to stop.

Eventually they pulled into a long driveway in front of a big building that looked like a library. Daddy turned off the engine, then came around to let them out. 

Some men came out of the building and spoke to Daddy. Then they took Wanda by the arms, and she started screaming . . .

Suddenly it was as if things had shifted around, and Pietro was the one being taken away, watching Daddy and Wanda standing by the car and getting smaller and smaller. "Daddy! Don't leave me! No! Don't leave me!"

He tried to tell the men that this was all wrong, that it hadn't happened like this, but all he heard was this buzzing noise coming from inside the building—

He opened his eyes. The buzzing was an alarm clock.

He wondered what time it was.

"Pietro?"

Peter was standing beside his bed. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he said, as the dream began to fade away. "Just a bad dream."

As he tossed the sheets aside, he could smell something cooking. Eggs, he thought, and bacon, and maybe toast too. He was hungry.

It was around ten o'clock, when Pietro was waiting for his turn in the shower, when John made the announcement.

"Suit up and get ready," he said. "The boss is on his way."


	3. Magneto's Secrets

III.

Dressed in full battle costumes, the four boys stood in a line in the entry hall, while Sabretooth went to meet Magneto at the front door.

"What do you think he wants?" Pietro asked.

"I don't know," Remy answered. "You see the news? They said Professor Xavier's crew are wanted mutants."

"Good thing they don't know about us, then. We'd all be in trouble," said Peter.

"Maybe we still are." Pietro was starting to squirm. "For all we know, he could be coming here to chew us out for who knows what, and then throw us in a dungeon to rot!"

The other three gave him a strange look.

"Well, he could! He locked my sister in the mental ward for years! And she didn't even do—"

"Ssh!" At the sound of approaching footsteps, the boys straightened up and prepared for inspection.

Magneto strode into the apartment like a king. His eyes passed from one to the next without stopping. "Good to see you're all here."

Pietro stood silently, while his insides churned. His father was a powerful and imposing man, but it was the emotional hold he had on Pietro that made the boy nervous. He hoped he'd remember Rule Number Two ("Don't call me Father, or God forbid, Dad, in front of the others") and not mess up. But with his luck he'd probably forget and cause a scene. 

Causing a scene was not allowed in Magneto's world. 

Wanda had caused many scenes before she was finally put away.

He blinked, and Magneto was standing in front of him. Trying not to make eye contact (Rule Four), he tried to gauge the older man's expression, and had no clue. 

Then Magneto moved on.

"You've done well," he announced. "I'm proud of you all. So proud that I'm going to give you a present."

"Hope it's money," John whispered, behind Pietro's back.

If Magneto heard, he gave no sign, but continued on. "I was going to wait to show you this, but since you've already proven yourselves worthy—unlike those **other idiots under my command—"**

Pietro felt his face grow warm, but he said nothing. He wanted to speak up, defend his former friends, but he couldn't.

"You've earned the right," Magneto concluded, "to an early admission."

_Admission? To what?_

The Master of Magnetism turned and led them out into the hallway. They went past the elevator, and made a hard left into the stairwell.

He walked up to what looked like a blank wall, and pushed something.

The wall slid open.

_A secret elevator? Where does it go?_

"This is **not on the building's original plans," Magneto said. "I made a few improvements, which you'll see soon enough. Never push the call button when others are around." He motioned them inside, and pushed the button to close the door.**

Pietro glanced at the control panel, and noticed there were only two buttons: the red "Door Close" button, and a smaller black one, which Magneto pressed as soon as the doors closed. There was no number on this button. Nor were there floor numbers over the elevator door. 

Where did it go, then?

Pietro felt a sickening lurch as the floor dropped beneath him. He clung to the rail along the wall and hoped he wouldn't throw up. 

He couldn't tell if they went down two floors or ten. The movement was so smooth and so rapid that it was hard to tell, without knowing, exactly how many floors they went down. But at last the doors opened . . .

"I don't believe it," Pietro said aloud.

The open space before him was the size of a parking garage, but instead of cars, it was full of complicated-looking equipment. Medical? Scientific? He couldn't tell.

Then he saw something he recognized, and when he realized what all this was, he almost smiled.

_All right! We got our own Danger Room!_

"This," Magneto said proudly, "is our new, state-of-the-art headquarters and training facility. You will train here twice a day, unless I send you off on specific missions."

"Not bad," Remy said. "It's like our own private gym."

"It's more than that. If you'll just come this way . . ."

On the far side of the room, one whole wall was taken up by TV monitors and expensive stereo components.

"This is our communications center. The monitors there receive over 500 video channels, and 200 audio frequencies, including police bands and military frequencies."

"Doesn't matter," said John. "Only one thing on right now, anyway. The Great Mutant Hunt."

Magneto smiled. It didn't look very humorous. "Indeed. Our secret is out. Now we wait and see what happens."

"That's all?" Peter asked. "We just . . . wait?"

Magneto approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know you are eager to get out and fight. But now is not the time. Soon enough, we will prove to those humans just who is the dominant species. Like the Neanderthals, Homo Sapiens' days are numbered. And when they are gone, we will take our rightful place as lords of creation . . ."

Pietro shook his head. He had heard variations of this speech since he was in diapers, and usually it sounded stupid. Yeah, like all those billions of humans would just roll over and die for them.

This time, though, it was different. It didn't sound stupid now, after all they'd been through. It was scary. What was Magneto planning?

Magneto caught his eye and nodded. "I'd like a word with you in private, please, Pietro."

"Private?"

"Upstairs." He turned back to the other mutants. "Sabretooth will show you the training simulator. I want you all to become familiar with the programs. You'll be down here a lot." Then he turned, and, his cape swishing behind him, led Pietro back to the elevator.

As soon as the doors closed, Pietro asked, "What **is **all this? How long have you been planning this?

"For a long time now. Things are finally coming together the way I want."

There was a long pause.

"Um . . . sir?"

"It's all right, Pietro. We're alone here. Rule Two doesn't apply."

"Father . . . what you said, about the human race dying out—"

"What about it?"

"It sounded like you were planning . . ." He didn't want to say it. It was such a big word, with such awful implications, but he couldn't think of another. "Genocide."

Magneto nodded. "You're asking if I have a secret arsenal of weapons to wipe out humanity completely. The answer is no. They **will **die out, eventually, as our numbers increase and we begin to displace them. It will all happen in good time."

"You weren't thinking of . . . hurrying it along?"

Erik Magnus Lensherr took his son's face in both hands. "Have I told you," he began, "about the concentration camp?"

Pietro nodded.

"One madman, with his notions of a 'Master Race', exterminated millions of people. People like us. People who had done nothing wrong. I have no wish to become the mutant Hitler. As I said, it will all happen in its own time. I believe in the Darwinian concept of survival of the fittest. We are superior, therefore we will survive. Naturally."

Pietro listened with some skepticism. It had been a long time since his father had spoken this frankly with him. But still, he had the feeling that he wasn't being told the whole truth.


	4. Terrors in the Night

IV.

Pietro went to bed that night more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. The "training session" Magneto had put them through that afternoon was nothing short of brutal.

"And we're supposed to do this again tomorrow," Peter groaned. "If we're just sitting around waiting, why are we training for a war?"

"He's up to something," Pietro said. He couldn't lift his arms high enough to put his pajama top on, so he left it off and crawled into bed in just the bottoms. "But I don't know what."

"You seem to know him very well."

"Not as well as I should. He's my father."

Peter didn't seem overly surprised. There was a resemblance, after all. Wanda took after their mother, but Pietro had always been Daddy's boy.

"You're not close, then?"

"Not really. I . . . I don't feel like talking about it."

Peter nodded and turned out the light.

The dream was different this time.

He was standing in the middle of a graveyard at night. The shining white gravestones reached as far as his eye could see. There had to be thousands of them, maybe tens of thousands.

He bent down and read the name on the closest one.

SCOTT SUMMERS.

_What?_

He looked for a date, but he couldn't read it. The rounded numbers were shadowed and hard to make out. It could be tomorrow, could be ten years from now.

Trembling, Pietro went down the line. JEAN GREY was the next one, followed by KURT WAGNER, KITTY PRIDE, EVAN DANIELS . . . they were all there.

All dead.

And he knew it was because of him.

A shadow fell over the last stone, which said simply ROGUE. Pietro looked up and saw his father standing over him.

"They're all dead."

Magneto only nodded and moved down the line.

The next one was LANCE ALVERS.

"Our own people, too?"

"They . . . got in the way."

_Sure they did. _"We're the only ones left, aren't we?"

Magneto said nothing, just stalked past, his cape billowing behind him.

And then suddenly it was daylight—a cold, gray daylight that didn't really illuminate anything. Pietro found himself alone, standing over an open casket. Behind him was the bombed-out shell of a building.

_I don't want to look. I don't want to see . . ._

But he did look.

The corpse had his own face . . .

He woke up screaming, unsure what was real and what was a dream. His head was pounding, and his insides were churning like they were in a blender.

The screams had brought everyone running. "Wha's wrong?" Remy asked sleepily

.Pietro couldn't answer. Suddenly he ran to the bathroom and threw up, over and over again. When the tide subsided, he rested his forehead against the side of the bowl and heaved a huge sigh.

"You're not well," Peter said, belaboring the obvious. "You should see a doctor, maybe."

"No . . . no, I'm all right," Pietro groaned, trying to lift his head. "Just a bad dream."

"Not the first time that's happened, is it?"

Pietro looked up and saw his father in the doorway. If Magneto had been in uniform, Pietro might have been too spooked to say a word, but the older man was in his pajamas.

"A lot's happened." He turned over and tried to sit up. "It's just . . . it's kind of hard to deal with, all at once."

Magneto looked around. "Everyone go back to bed," he ordered, and the boys scattered. 

Peter looked over his shoulder, but at a stern glance from Magneto, he left as well.

Magneto sat down on the floor beside his son. "How do you feel now?"

"Awful."

He put a hand on the boy's forehead. "No fever. It's probably just a nervous stomach." He smiled. "You get that from your mother."

"You never talk about her."

"Well . . . you wouldn't remember her."

_That's why I want you to talk about her,_ Pietro thought.

"She almost missed our wedding because we couldn't get her out of the bathroom. By the time you came along, she knew the location of every public bathroom within five miles of our house."

"What was she like?"

Magneto sighed. "I wish I had time to tell you, but it's late, and you need to be getting back to bed—"

"I don't think I can sleep tonight," Pietro said. The dream was fading away, but he knew he'd never be able to close his eyes without seeing those rows of gravestones stretching on and on to infinity . . .

His father patted him on the shoulder. "I'll let you sleep in tomorrow. You don't have to come to morning training. I would, however, like you to see me as soon as you've finished your breakfast."

So it was back to business. Fine, sure, whatever. He was used to it by now.

"Okay."

Magneto helped him up off the floor. "Dreams rarely come twice in the same night," he said. "With any luck, you should be out like a light in no time."

Easy for him to say.

 "I hope so," Pietro said. With that, he went back to his own room. He glanced over at the other bed, but all he saw was Peter's unmoving back. 

He spent a long time lying awake and thinking about his mother . . . how you could miss someone even if you could barely remember what they looked like anymore. Even though he had to look at her photograph to remember her eyes and her smile, she still meant more to him than anyone else in the world.

He wished she were here now, so he could ask her advice on how to fix his screwed-up life. She would know what to do. 

And then he thought: if she had been here, would any of this have happened?

Quietly, he got up, and went across the room to the chest of drawers. He opened the top drawer as silently as he could, and took out the picture.

Then he went back to bed and put it under his pillow. And he fell asleep right away.


	5. Weakness

V.

Pietro slept almost twelve full hours once he finally fell asleep. He only woke up when Sabretooth shook him.

"C'mon, kid, the boss said you could sleep through morning training, not afternoon training!"

"Huh?" Pietro rolled over and opened one eye. "What time is it?"

"Almost two. Get your butt in gear. I'll be waiting for you downstairs after you get something to eat."

"Okay."

There was a plate on the kitchen table for him, and a note.

Pietro,

            Hope you're feeling better. You need to be at the training session

            This afternoon. Very important.

            M.

Well, okay then. Pietro folded up the note and looked at the plate. There were two slices of bacon, a fried egg, half a piece of toast, and some kind of protein smoothie that looked totally gross.

He wondered who had cooked. It was way too much fat for his liking, but he went ahead and had a bit of it anyway—

His stomach wasn't quite ready for rich food yet, though. No sooner had he taken his first few bites than he felt a queasy sensation in his stomach, and then he suddenly found himself standing over the sink and vomiting up what little he'd eaten.

"Too greasy for you?"

Pietro turned slowly and saw Remy standing by the table.

"I told him not to put so much butter on the eggs," he continued, "but he said that was the only way he knew how to cook them."

"Figures."

"You're wanted downstairs, by the way."

"Yeah, I know." Pietro followed Remy to the elevator, having given up on breakfast completely. "Training session. That's what he wants me for. That's all I am to him, a soldier in his unholy crusade . . ."

"You okay?" Remy was looking at him funny.

"I just wish for once he'd stop treating me like a soldier and start treating me like a—" He stopped as he realized that Rule Two was in jeopardy. 

"Like a what?"

"Like a person."

The elevator stopped, and Pietro got out . . .

Magneto was waiting for him. "Nice of you to join us."

"Sorry. Little trouble with breakfast."

"Trouble?"

"It's nothing. I'm okay now," he lied.

"I hope so. The X-Men are no longer hiding, and we need to be prepared for any eventuality."

"You think they're gonna come after us?" Pietro said, without thinking. "But they don't even know where we are!"

Magneto's expression darkened. "It only takes one slip for them to find out." He seemed to be directing his warning at Remy, who shrugged it off. "None of you are to go out alone. They could easily capture you and force you to reveal our whereabouts."

_For crying out loud, this isn't a war! What's with all the secrecy all of a sudden?_

"Today we will split into teams of two, and practice defensive moves."

"Yeah, okay." As long as it wasn't anything too strenuous. Pietro was still hurting from yesterday's torture session. Not to mention what was going on in his stomach right now.

"Pyro and Colossus . . . Gambit and Sabretooth . . ."

Remy's usual cocky grin faltered a bit.

"Quicksilver, you're with me."

Pietro **definitely wasn't ready for this. How was he supposed to fight his father?**

As the pairs separated out, Magneto said, "Don't let your emotions get in the way of your mission. Your job is to take me down, and I expect you to do it."

"How?" Pietro asked. He winced when he heard how whiny it came out.

"Find a weak spot and exploit it."

"But you don't **have any weaknesses! Rule One, remember?"**

Magneto raised an eyebrow. "Rule One," he said, "is 'Never **show weakness.'"**

"So how do I know what it is?"

"You're wasting precious time here. Make your move."

_Okay . . ._

He charged at Magneto, and was knocked right off his feet. "Ow!"

"Now you know a frontal attack doesn't work.. Try another approach."

Easy for him to say. Pietro whirled around and attacked from the rear, but he was just knocked over again.

Magneto helped him up. "Think! Think of something that can be used against me. Or a different kind of attack."

Pietro glanced over at the other teams, who were having an equally hard time taking each other down. It didn't give him any confidence. 

He tried again and again, always with the same result. Finally his body would take no more. He lay on the floor, gasping for breath.

"Quicksilver!" Magneto stood over him. "We're not finished yet. Get up!"

"Can't . . ." the boy moaned. Then he blacked out.

Magneto bent down to try and revive him. What he found  when he checked his son's vital signs was alarming.

Pietro's breathing was dangerously shallow, and his heart was beating much too fast even for his rapid metabolism. As Magneto picked the boy up, he could feel how feverishly hot he was.

_Why didn't he tell me?_

"I'm taking him upstairs," he announced to the rest of the crew. "Keep up the training until I get back."

After he put Pietro in his bed, Magneto called a doctor he knew he could trust not to betray their secret. When he got off the phone, he turned and nearly bumped into Colossus.

"Is he all right?"

"He will be. But be careful about going in and out of there. Whatever this is might be contagious, and I don't have the facilities to treat all of you at once."

"I'll stay with him," the Russian offered.

Magneto considered this. "All right. But limit your contact with the others. The doctor should be here soon."

"What do you think it is?"

"Hard to say. But I don't want to take any chances on spreading it."

"I understand."

The doctor showed up a few minutes later, and spent nearly an hour examining Pietro, who was awake now. Magneto waited in the living room for the official word. When the doctor finally came back, he didn't look too happy, but neither did he look like he was about to deliver distressing news.

"Well?"

"I'm afraid your son has picked up a rather nasty stomach virus. Been going around a lot, I'm not surprised. It seems in his case to be complicated by extreme exhaustion."

"He's very active," Magneto said, surely the understatement of the year.

"Well, right now, he needs to be a little **less** active. I want him on complete bed rest for at least a week. See if you can get some food into him, and especially fluids. He's dehydrated as well."

"I see."

"If he doesn't start improving within three days, give me a call. But once his fever goes down and he starts drinking something, he should be all right."

"Thank you." Magneto showed the doctor to the door. "Just send the bill to this address."

"Don't worry about it."

As soon as the doctor was gone, Magneto went back to his son's room. The boy had gone back to sleep, Peter sitting by his side in constant vigil. He hadn't left even while the doctor was there.

"I'll take over now," Magneto said. "You can go watch TV or something. Stay up here, though."

Peter nodded, rose, then thought of something. "He could use some attention from you. He . . . he thinks you don't care about him."

"He told you that?"

"Not in so many words, but . . ."

"I see. All right, I'll see what I can do with him."

Once he was alone with his son, he looked down at the boy and realized how little time they'd actually spent together over the past few weeks. Actually, over the past few **years, once he thought about it. Could Pietro really hate him that much? Wanda certainly did, but the twins weren't at all alike anymore. At least it seemed that way.**

_And where is Wanda now? Captured? Dead? On the run? Why didn't I go back for her?_

He stared down at the sleeping boy and wondered where he had gone wrong with his children, and whether he could ever make it right.

When Pietro woke up, some time later, he noticed a letter resting on the table beside his bed:

_Pietro,_

_I came to your room to check on you, but you were still asleep. So I've gone to get some supplies. I should be back in about an hour, and we need to have a serious talk._

Not another serious talk!

He read on:

_The doctor said you have to stay in bed for the next few days, perhaps as much as a week._

A **week? He'd go crazy!**

_This is very important. I want you to get well as soon as possible. I'll be around if you need anything._

It was signed, _Dad._

Pietro put the note down and looked around. The small TV/VCR combo that had been in his father's room was now on the dresser, a stack of tapes beside it.

On the bedside table where the note had been was a plastic pitcher full of water, and a glass. He poured himself some of the water and gulped it down. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. Refilling the glass, he drank some more.

"Wow, that felt good," Pietro said to himself.

"What felt good?"

He looked up and saw Remy LeBeau standing in the doorway. "Training over already?"

"Already? Man, you **have been out of it! It was over hours ago!"**

"Really? What time is it?" He couldn't have been asleep that long, could he?

Looking at his watch, Remy said, "It's almost eight-thirty."

"Eight-thirty?" The training session had started at about two. Had he really slept for six hours?

Well, no, he'd been awake a couple of times, but he didn't remember too much. He tried to get up, but found that he was too weak to move. "I can't move my legs!"

"You're just tired," Remy said. "Get some rest."

"I've **had some rest! I can't stay in bed for a week! Help me up." He reached up, but all the jerking around wasn't doing his stomach any good. Before he could stop it or give any warning, he threw up over the side of the bed, onto somebody's fuzzy bear slippers.**

Remy looked at the mess. "Maybe I should get you a basin or something."

"Too late now." He wondered whose slippers they were, and hoped they could be washed.

Magneto came back, carrying a paper bag of groceries, and nearly stepped in the puddle on the floor. "Oh, dear **God**," he gasped. 

"Sorry," Pietro said weakly.

Magneto saw Remy lurking in the doorway, and said, "Make yourself useful, Frenchie. Mop this up before it sets into the carpet."

Remy went to the kitchen to get a wet rag, and that basin he'd mentioned.

Peter came in to help, and got an unpleasant surprise. "My slippers!"

"Sorry!" Pietro repeated. "I'll buy you a new pair as soon as I can get up."

"You're not going anywhere anytime soon," his father told him, and began unpacking the bag. There were enough medical supplies to stock a drug store.

"Do I really need all that?"

"Of course you do. You want to get better, don't you?"

"Yeah . . ." Pietro said, but he wasn't so sure. 


	6. Arrivals

VI.

While Pietro slept, Magneto worked his team harder than ever. He upped the daily training sessions from two to three, and no one was happy with that.

"He's gonna kill us," Remy gasped, "if he keeps this up."

"Tell me about it," said John. 

Magneto was the only one still standing. "Are we having problems, ladies?"

"Boss, you can't do this!" Remy said to him.

"Oh? Why not? Last time I checked, I was still in charge here."

Peter was swearing under his breath in Russian.

"Something you want to share with us, Colossus?"

No answer.

"Perhaps I need a little . . . insurance."

Peter's head snapped up. "No! Please, God, no!"

"Can I count on you, then?"

The other two were looking at him curiously. What exactly was this "insurance"?

"_Da._" It was barely more than a whisper.

"Good. Come with me and we'll discuss it. The rest of you can take a break. But no more two-hour phone calls to New Orleans!"

"They were not two hours!" Remy protested.

"Haven't you ever heard of dialing collect?" Without waiting for an answer, he stalked off toward the elevator, Peter in his wake.

"What's **his** problem?" John asked.

Remy shrugged. "Who knows, with him? The _homme _be a strange one."

Pietro was in and out of sleep over the next few days. Most of his dreams, he couldn't remember afterwards, but one . . .

He was running through the city, pursued by giant carnivorous cockroaches. It was very important that he get somewhere before the roaches got him. He had to do something . . .

Someone was with him, but he couldn't make out who. Whoever it was slipped down the fire escape, and the roaches were all over him, like pirhanas skeletonizing a cow. It was too late, he had no time to get away, and now they were on him—

"AAAAAHHHH!" He jerked awake, slapping at the dream-insects, feeling like his whole body was on fire. It took a moment before he could calm down and remember where he was.

Then he heard voices.

" . . . told you not to call there anymore!"

"You said call collect! That's what I did! I just needed her to send me some stuff!"

"You **gave out **our **address**! I specifically told you not to—"

"No, you didn't."

"Do not talk," the first speaker, whom Pietro recognized as Magneto, said, "when I am talking. You will sit, and you will listen, until I am finished."

Boy, did that sound familiar. Pietro was just glad he wasn't on the receiving end of **this** lecture. The other voice, he could tell from the accent, was Remy.

Suddenly his legs couldn't hold him any longer, and Pietro landed on his butt with a thump. His head flew back and cracked against the wall, and for a moment he actually saw stars.

"Who's there?" 

Pietro couldn't answer for a moment. Then his father's face swam into his field of vision. "H . . . Hi."

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"I heard voices. I just wanted to see what was going on."

Magneto sighed and said, "Our security has been breached."

"I told you, you can trust _la Belle_! She's like family!"

"You get back there and sit down!" Magneto shouted.

"What happened?" Pietro asked.

Magneto helped him up, and then over to the couch. Pietro lay on his side, his head resting on a throw pillow. "**Someone **deliberately ignored my instructions and gave out our address. I, of course, was unaware of this, until a package arrived this morning."

"I didn't—"

"Did I say it was your turn to talk?" Magneto was in full-on "angry parent" mode, and God help anyone who got in the way. "Effective immediately, all outgoing communications are suspended. Which means, Mr. LeBeau, that if you so much as **breathe **on that phone, you will be in unbelievable trouble. As soon as possible, we're moving to our backup location."

"Moving?" Pietro asked. "But we just got here!"

Magneto looked down as if noticing his son for the first time. "Let me help you back to your room," he said, "and I'll explain. As for **you**—" he turned to Remy—"start packing. I want as much as possible loaded up and ready to go by tonight."

"I think you crazy!" Remy shouted, his English deteriorating as it did when he was stressed. "So who see this package? You, me, Belle—"

"A few hundred people at the Post Office," Magneto finished. "Any one of whom could betray us at any time. We can't be here for them to find. When it's safe, we'll come back."

He looked down at Pietro. "Can you walk?"

The boy shook his head.

His father scooped him up and carried him in his arms to his bed, and tucked him back in. "I'll take care of everything," he said. "You just get some rest."

_But I've **been** resting! _Pietro thought, but nothing came out of his mouth. His head felt fuzzy, and his eyes hurt, but he wasn't really tired.

But he fell asleep anyway.

Sabretooth came back from his solo mission, only to find the house almost deserted. The only one home was Pietro, who was in bed sleeping. Kid didn't look too good, either. Whatever he'd caught, it looked like it was pretty nasty.

"Just don't die on me, Junior." He wasn't used to kids—if he had any, somewhere, he'd never stuck around to meet them—but this was the boss' kid, and he was stuck taking care of him until someone else came home.

Pietro coughed and then rolled over, but didn't wake up just yet. The cough didn't sound good. He laid a hand on the kid's forehead, and then jerked it away in surprise. Pietro was burning up.

"Wonderful." Sabretooth went to the main bathroom, wet a washcloth with cold water, wrung it out, then came back into the bedroom and laid it on the kid's forehead. That should help a bit. He couldn't do anything more until Pietro woke up. But he wasn't planning to stick around that long anyway.

His comings and goings might seem random, but in actuality, he had a job to do. And he wouldn't rest until he had found what he was looking for.

He heard a key in the front door and made a quick exit out the window.

Pietro awoke to voices a second time, but different voices. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but one was a girl.

_Wanda? They found her?_

His door opened, and he winced as the light hit his eyes. "Close the door! Close the door!"

"Sorry? Is something wrong?" 

It was definitely a girl, but it wasn't Wanda, not unless she had acquired an accent while she was away. "Who are you?"

"Who are **you**?"

"You go first." Pietro was too groggy to think straight. He'd need a minute to remember his name.

"Illyana," she said, and stepped closer so he could get a look at her. She was a few years younger than he was, twelve or thirteen. "Piotr is my brother."

"Ah."

"You live here?"

"Yeah, for now. I guess we're moving or something." He tried to sit up, but couldn't manage to lift his head. Illyana came over and helped him. "Thanks."

"And you are . . .?"

"Pietro Maximoff. Also known as the boss' kid." It wasn't **exactly** violating Rule Two, was it? Besides, it wasn't like nobody knew.

"I didn't know he had a kid."

"Yeah. Two of us. I have a twin sister, Wanda. But she . . . we got separated, and . . ." He couldn't finish. It was too hard to know what to say.

"It is hard, being separated, no?" Illyana smiled at him, and something in that smile made him think of his mother, though the two looked nothing alike.

All of a sudden, he started coughing so hard he couldn't catch his breath. Illyana rushed to help him. "Here, drink some water."

"Thanks," he said, gulping it down in between coughs. It did the trick. "Sorry, I've been sick the last couple of days. Hope you don't get it."

She looked him over, listening to his chest, feeling his forehead, even looking down his throat. "Have you been taking anything?"

"I think so. I can't really remember."

"Let me make you one of my special home remedies. My grandmother's, really. She was a . . . how you say it . . . herbal doctor?"

Pietro nodded. "My great-aunt knew a lot about that stuff. She raised us after our mom died and before Dad showed up again. She was a lot of fun. Her favorite thing to do was talk back to the TV programs. Especially old movies. Kinda like 'MST3K', but in Ukrainian."

Illyana looked surprised at this. "She was from Ukraine?"

"I think so. Originally. She spoke English pretty good, though."

"Do you think I speak English pretty good?"

_Is she flirting with me? She's flirting with me! _Pietro didn't know whether to be flattered or afraid—how old was she? And how would her brother feel about her dating someone older? "Uh . . . yeah. Yeah, really good."

"Drink some more water. I'll be right back." She left him alone for a minute, thinking of all the associations that had cropped up in his mind.

Wanda. His father. Aunt Luisa, for God's sake—how long had it been since he had thought of her? And his mother, whom he barely remembered anymore. One moment she was there, the next she was . . . gone. That's all you understand when you're three. It had never occurred to him to ask **where **she had gone, or if she was coming back.

And why hadn't his father been there? "Abroad on business" was what Luisa had told them then. What business? Where did Magneto get his money? Investments? Inventions? A dot-com business on the side? It didn't make sense.

Illyana returned. "I have to go to the store," she said. "Some things I need are not here. You will be okay?"

"Oh, sure," he said, and then started coughing again. When he was able to speak again, he said, "Maybe you'd better hurry up with that medicine."

"I will," she said. She stuck her head out the door. "Piotr!"

"_Da._"

There followed an exchange in Russian that Pietro didn't even bother trying to follow. He lay back and tried in vain to breathe through his nose. Reaching for the tissue box, he found it strangely light. It was so light because it was empty. Rats.

When Illyana turned her attention back to him, Pietro said, "Can you find me a fresh box of Kleenex?"

"Is there one around?"

"There should be one in the living room. On the table next to the couch."

"Okay." She went and found it. "I'm going now. I should be back soon."

"Uh huh." He felt like he might fall asleep again. After using up half the box of Kleenex, and making sure his nose was sufficiently clear, he lay back down again and closed his eyes. He didn't even hear the door as his two roommates went out.

"Pietro?"

Someone was nudging him. It had to be Wanda; it was a female voice. "Go 'way. Cartoons aren't on yet."

"Pietro, wake up."

"Go . . ." He opened his eyes. At first he wondered why Wanda had dyed her hair blonde, then memory of the last few hours kicked in and he recognized her. "Oh, hi.You're back."

"I made you the medicine," Illyana said. "Drink it all. It tastes bad, but it works."

"Okay." He gave her a skeptical look, but drank it anyway. The moment he finished the last drop, his head began to clear up. "Wow! That's powerful stuff!"

"Three generations of healers know best. You should eat something, once your stomach settles."

"Eat?" When had he last eaten? What day was it? He'd lost so much time being asleep that he wasn't sure if two days or two weeks had gone by. The last meal he remembered was the night they had arrived. The last one that hadn't ended up in the toilet a few hours later, anyway. "Yeah, I'm hungry, I guess. Do we have any food?"

"There is soup. I will make you some."

Pietro nodded and watched her go again. Damn. If only she wasn't twelve years old . . .

Footsteps made him look up. Peter (Piotr?) was sitting in the chair next to the bed.

"You like her?"

How to answer a question like that? "She's wonderful. I mean . . . that medicine did more for me than three whole days of sleep. Do I want to know what's in it?"

Peter smiled. "Rosemary. Mostly. The rest you don't need to know." His expression turned grave. "Do not get to like her too much."

"Don't worry, I'll keep my hands off her. She's underage, right?"

"She is fifteen."

Pietro raised an eyebrow. "She looks younger. I thought she was twelve. It doesn't matter, I still won't mess around with her."

"That is not why." The Russian looked uncomfortable. "She is . . . my insurance policy."

"Insurance? What kind of insurance?"

"Ask your father."

"I would if I ever saw him for more than a few minutes at a time. Is he still here?" He had come in, when Illyana did; Pietro remembered hearing his voice. Had he gone out again?

"He is in his room. He gave orders not to be disturbed."

"I wish I knew what he was up to. I mean, we just got here a few days ago, and now he's moving us out again. I don't get it. I don't get **him**. He has some kind of hidden agenda—he always does—and I just wish I knew what it was!"

Illyana came in, carrying a tray with a bowl of what looked like vegetable soup. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," her brother said. He got up and left without another word. 

"What is it?" she asked Pietro.

"Ah, take too long to explain. That looks good." And it was good, too, even if it was out of a can and heated up in the microwave. 

There was a shadow in the doorway, and it was wearing a cape. Pietro groaned inwardly. Speak of the Devil . . .

"Have you seen Sabretooth?" Magneto demanded.

"He was here earlier," Pietro said. "Musta gone out again."

"He hasn't contacted me all day. I need progress reports, and I need them now!"

"Progress reports? What about?" Pietro looked his father in the eyes. "What's going on?"

Magneto was about to reply when there was a strange noise from outside. "What's that?" he asked, rushing to the window to look out. 

But the window in Pietro's room didn't look out towards the front of the building. Frustrated, he ran to the living room to look out from there.

A motorcycle had pulled up into the "No Parking" area, with two people on it. The bigger and hairier one could only be Sabretooth, while the other one . . .

She took off her helmet and shook out short black hair. Then she looked up towards the window.

"Wanda," Magneto gasped.


End file.
